Servant

Wednesday, May 4, 2016

(Here is something I posted 5 years ago. I can't believe Nana has been gone that long already. So many things I still wish I could share with her.)

The
first memories I have of you were the visits we made when you and
Grandpa lived in Libby, Montana. I loved seeing all of Grandpa’s rocks,
eating your yummy pies, and feeling your warm hugs. At some point in
time you both moved in with us and started the life of trekking back and
forth between Montana and Georgia.

One
of my favorite pastimes throughout all the years was talking to you. At
any given time of any day, your door was open to whoever came knocking.
There was no secret that I ever kept from you, no fear that I didn’t
share with you, and no joy that you weren’t one of the first that I
wanted to tell it to.

We
spent year after year together, including one winter in the snow banks
of Montana, a car accident, heart breaks, laughs, playing games, and so
much more. When I was nine years old I was trying to decide what
instrument I wanted to learn when you told me you had always wanted one
of your grandchildren to play the violin. After weighing the options,
that one came out far above the rest and I began the long, torturous
journey of learning the violin. Day after day, week after week, you
would faithfully listen to me squeak and squawk. It was on Mothers’ Day
Sabbath that I played my first special music, your favorite hymn, “What a
Friend We Have in Jesus”, with you and Phoebe.

Your
favorite place to be was with young people, whether it was visiting us
at Oklahoma Academy, Southern, going to orchestra concerts, or cheering
at a Triathlon. You were “nana” to all my friends and made them feel
like your own grandchildren. Whether you were quietly observing in a
corner or sharing words of encouragement to a downcast friend, you were
always an active part in my life.

You
said you wanted to live until Phoebe and I got married. I told you that
you could pick my husband like Abraham’s servant did for Isaac, but you
turned down the offer, assuring me that God would help me make that
decision.

My
greatest fear about going as a student missionary this year to the
Philippines was that something would happen to you while I was gone, and
I know that you feared the same thing. You didn’t want to let me go,
but you wouldn’t have wanted me to do anything different. The most
important thing to you was to know that I was working for God.

I
was in my hut on Sunday morning in the mountains when I first found out
you were in the hospital. I didn’t know what to think, but from what I
heard you were responding well to the medications and would likely be
back home in a couple days. Monday night I got the news that you were
getting worse instead of better like they expected. Mom asked me if I
wanted to come home—I didn’t want to think that you were actually sick
enough that it would be necessary. The next morning I talked to mom
again and realized that you were really not going to last much longer
and I couldn’t believe it. Tuesday afternoon I began the hike out of the
mountains. Wednesday I made it to the lowlands, drove four hours to the
capital, and flew to the main island where I spent the night. I was in
the hotel late that night when I found out that you had died. You had
died. I was in shock. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe I was
never going to feel your warm hug again. Never again would I feel your
soft hands. You could never again tell me how much you loved me. I could
never play my violin with you accompanying me on the piano again. Never
again could I come to you with my tears and joys. No more would your
prayers go before God’s throne on my behalf. I slept about three hours
that night and began the 24-hour series of flights home.

I
keep thinking that you will come in the door and sit down to play the
piano. I keep thinking the phone will ring and I will hear your voice on
the other end. But it’s not going to happen. You are sleeping
peacefully in the grave right now, and the next thing that you will see
is the face of Jesus. As the tears flow down my face and my heart
breaks, I can’t help but praise God. For one, I have the assurance that I
will see you very soon when Jesus comes again. Also, there are not very
many people that have the privilege of loving someone as deeply as I
loved you. You were the most patient, kind, thoughtful, and selfless
person that I have ever met. Thank you for reflecting God’s character to
me. Thank you for being my best friend. Thank you for loving me.

Sunday, February 28, 2016

Thursday, October 22, 2015

It’s
hard to believe that it’s already been a year since your beloved
husband and our adored daddy passed away. One year ago today, we were
holding Dad’s hands when he took his last breath. The two months leading
up to that day were some of the most difficult, yet most precious
moments of my life—watching Dad choke down his milk chocolate Ensure
because he couldn’t down anything else, trying to get rid of his
constipation, helping him fix his pillow just perfect because he
couldn’t raise his arms to fix it himself, helping him to the rocking
chair, to the bed, and back again, getting up with him at night to help
him use the bathroom or take more pain medicine, reading him stories, catching a
glimpse of what it’s like to come to grips with the thought of missing
out on the lives of your children and grandchildren, talking
about life, love, and future plans, seeing the intense pain in his eyes
due to the bone cancer even though his words were only praises to God,
…. Somehow I thought Dad would always be there to put his strong arms
around me and tell me, “You’re my favorite ___ year old." That he would
always be there to wake me up in the morning with a kiss and a cheerful
voice saying, “It’s the first day towards the Sabbath! Have you spent
time with your Best Friend, Jesus today?” I always thought Dad would be
there to share his corny jokes, his passionate mission stories, his
words of wisdom. I thought he would be there to get to know any
potential interests and give his input, to walk me down the isle, and
even to train my children how to really work. But no… Now he is
gone. He is resting in the grave until Jesus comes. I’ll never forget
those last couple agonizing days, watching him labor for every breath.
Yet, somehow he had peace on his face. He was ready to go. He told me he
was ready to go. I know he was ready to go.

We have now
made it through our first year without Dad. There have been ups and
downs. There have been some laughs, but many tears. Our tendency as
humans is to question God’s character when facing difficulties. The only
time we say “God is good” is when we find our keys or someone is healed
of their terminal illness. But who are we to be exempt from the
heartaches of this sinful world? Do we judge God based off of the
circumstances around us? I choose to praise God for the loss of Dad. It
doesn’t take away the pain I feel or diminish how much I miss him. It
simply shows that I trust God because I know Him. I know that God
gives strength for every trial and that one day sin and sorrow will be
no more. Dad is safe in the arms of Jesus, sleeping until the
resurrection when we will be reunited for eternity. In the meantime, we
have a legacy to carry on and a work to do. Dad was the greatest
missionary I ever knew, and with God’s help, we can only pick up where
he left off.

Mom, you are reading this letter where we spread
Dad’s ashes and read his last words to us a year ago. Tears are rolling
down my face as I remember… And I know your heart is breaking, too. I
just want to thank you for being a strong rock in my life. Thank you for
picking up and carrying on even when you don't want to. Thank you for
trusting the heart of God even when you can’t understand. One day soon
we will be reunited as a family, never to part again. I love you so much
and am so thankful for you.

Thursday, May 7, 2015

Dad came running into the room with his hands still sopping
wet just in time to catch me as I made my entrance into the world. It was in
Daddy’s hands that I took my first breath. That was the first moment of
twenty-six years spent with the most incredible dad I could have ever imagined
or hoped for, and a lifetime of beautiful memories. Although I will make a
feeble attempt, words are simply inadequate to express what my dad truly meant
to me.

I have never met someone with hands as strong as my dad’s.
They were not strong without reason, as he was also the hardest-working man I
have ever met. He never sat around with nothing to do, but always had a
never-ending list of jobs to accomplish. He expected his children to do their
share of the work around the house as well. If our pets hadn’t eaten breakfast,
neither could we. “If you don’t work, you don’t eat”, he would always tell us.
We learned at a very young age how to clean the bathroom, pull weeds, pick
rocks, fertilize blueberries, dig postholes, and the list could go on and on. He
would be out there with us, teaching us and helping us. If we forgot to put our
tools away or close the gates where the horses might get out, he would get us
up when he got home, no matter what time of night it was, to finish the job. It
was by the guidance of my dad’s hands that I truly learned work ethic and responsibility.

Dad was not all about work, although sometimes I felt like
he was. He also taught me to play and have fun. Sometimes we would go snow
skiing for family vacation. In the summer we would get the canoes down to the
reservoir and go to the nearby islands for the afternoon, during which time he
taught me how to steer. He taught me how to saddle and ride a horse, how to
build a fire on our camping trips, how to identify the trees on our hikes, and
how to live each day to the fullest. It was by the example of how my dad used
his hands that I was taught to love and appreciate genuine, edifying fun.

Even though I was his fifth and last child, Dad still had
enough love for me. He expressed his love in so many ways, even though it was
not always perceived as love at that time. He was ready to discipline when
necessary, ready to give a hug when needed, and he always had a listening ear
and a word of wisdom. There were times when personalities would clash or
feelings would be hurt, but he was always ready to say “I’m sorry” and make
things right. Dad’s hand, whether in discipline or affection, taught me the
value of true love.

Dad was the most self-sacrificing, unselfish person I have
ever met. He went far beyond what was required of him. He was always ready to
buy food for the homeless man on the street, give a job to a friend in need, or
help a student through school. Dad’s hand of generosity taught me the truth of
the words, “It is more blessed to give than to receive”.

Dad wasn’t one of the most theological people with all the
right answers, but somehow I have never known anyone to be a more faithful
missionary than he was. Dad gave literature to everyone he met, regardless of
the situation. Mission stories always thrilled him to the core and we got to go
on our first mission trip as a family when I was nine. No matter what, we
always had family worship every morning and evening, besides which he would
daily ask if we had spent quiet time with our best friend, Jesus. There are
innumerable people who share about
God, yet not many who truly know Him for themselves and live what they preach. My
dad made mistakes and was definitely not perfect, but he was what I consider to
have been a true missionary. Because of what he did with his hands and not only
his mouth, he instilled in me the same longing to be a missionary.

I was privileged to be one of those caring for my dad during
his last couple months of life. Although it was two of the most difficult
months of my life, I would not trade them for anything. Sometimes he would be
in tears due to the pain of the cancer in his bones, but when asked how he was
doing, his response was always, “praising the Lord.” When all that was left of
him was bones with skin stretched over them and he was racked with pain, his
primary concern was still for those around him. He hated for us to have to care
for him when he was so used to being the one helping everyone else, yet he
never failed to express his appreciation.

Eventually he got to the point where he could barely respond
to us verbally; his breathing got faster and heavier. Then the hospice nurse
told us it wouldn’t be long. Dad had been such an integral part of my life. How
could I let him go? The night before he died, we all gathered around his bed
and sang song after song. After one of his favorites I asked, “Dad, wasn’t that
beautiful?” and I noted a slight nod of his head.

In the wee hours of the morning on October 22, 2014, we
again gathered around Dad’s bed. He was gasping for each breath; it seemed like
an eternity between each one. Intense pain flooded my heart. Yet at the same
time, I had peace. I knew Dad was right with God. I knew the promises in the
Bible—that my dad would sleep and that he wouldn’t know anything until the
second coming of Jesus, when all of the dead in Christ will be raised from the
dead and will meet in the air those who are living righteously. I took Dad’s
hand. I resolved in my heart that day by day, with God’s help, I would live up
to all Dad taught me, all that he dreamed for me. I would be among those who
would meet him in the clouds at Christ’s soon coming… Dad took another small
breath. It was followed by silence. His heart was no longer beating. What a
privilege that Daddy was holding me in his hands when I took my first breathe,
and mine were among those holding him when he took his last.

Sunday, November 2, 2014

There are many emotions in my heart. Words do not flow, although many tears do. My Daddy was laid to rest on October 22, 2014. I had the privilege of being one of those holding him when he took his last breath, and I had the privilege of him holding me when I took my first breath (since the midwives didn't get there in time). Thank you to each of those who loved Dad so much, as well as those who have been so supportive of us as we mourn our loss. Enjoy Daddy's Slideshow, created by Phoebe.

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

There have been many new things that have happened in my life since I last blogged, and I have wanted to write lengthy, detailed blogs for so many of them, but I will just give a brief synopsis of a few of them instead.

I led canvassing for my first time in Central California this summer and was immensely blessed. We had an incredible team and many powerful experiences.

We had a family reunion this summer--something that had not happened for 8 years. Our family has grown since the last time we were all together!

I completed my very first quilt! A rag quilt. Much thanks to my dear sister-in-law, Becca, who gave me much assistance, as well as my mom.

I visited Guam for 3 weeks. It's a beautiful island! I got my Open Water Scuba Diving certification.

Now the journeys of my life are taking me to California to work for the Central California Conference of Seventh-day Adventists. I will be recruiting for the summer canvassing programs, working with GLOW, and learning to give Bible studies on the side.

I don't know yet what other new things I will encounter in the coming months and years, but whatever ups and downs come, I'm eager to face them with Jesus by my side.

Thursday, May 2, 2013

My dad owned a tree planting business for many, many years. Eller & Sons Trees, Inc. They planted for paper companies all over the states. He started long before I was born and didn't stop until just a few years ago. The one thing that he spends and always has spent the greatest portion of his income on was helping others. Literature for strangers. Motels for the homeless. Food for the hungry. Support for missionaries. And my mom supports and encourages him in it. Their hearts are the most generous I know. This song, Planting Trees, makes me think of my parents. How thankful I am for them. I hope to plant many trees, too.